


therefore, you and me

by Siriex, vitriol



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/strange fake
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gore, I mean it it's a romcom, Local teenager finds a serial killer, Murder, Other, Slow Burn, What Happens Next Will Warm Your Heart, rom com, the graphic violence warning is only for maybe a couple chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriex/pseuds/Siriex, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vitriol/pseuds/vitriol
Summary: There's an infinite manner of ways that a murder can go wrong.Jack just never thought that it would play out like this.
Relationships: Flat Escardos/Jack the Ripper | False Berserker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> siri and i were possessed at 11pm a few days ago by the writing demons and now here we are. someone help us.

People say that there is no a such thing as a perfect murder. 

There will always be some sort of evidence left behind. Perhaps a stray hair. Drops of blood from a fight. Shoe prints. Tire tracks. Fingerprints. Saliva. Witnesses. The list could go on and on for miles, proof of all the variables that could--and  _ do  _ go wrong while committing a murder. 

Jack had always known this to be the case. Even if they got away with a murder, this did not mean that it had been perfect. But it was close enough to perfect that it would elude the police, and that’s what mattered to them. 

As long as they were able to enjoy the writhing of a victim below them, the sight of their skin tearing apart under their scalpel, giving way to the connective tissue and organs below, then that was all they needed. That warmth that comes from being wrist deep in someone’s abdomen is a feeling far more exhilarating than any kind of drug--it’s  _ their _ own drug.

And it’s that drug that they allow themselves to indulge in at the moment, as Jack separates organs in search for today’s prize; a rich woman’s uterus. The sensating they get as they dig through viscera is the same kind that an addict relishes the first line of cocaine after weeks of abstinence. It’s thrilling, it’s terrifying, it’s addicting, it’s--

“Mother? Father?”

The small voice is like cold water on Jack’s back. They turn around, hands still deep inside the corpse’s lower abdomen, to see a young male--perhaps a five or so years younger than him--staring at the scene. 

It is a scene that cannot be described in any other way but  _ gruesome _ . 

A Woman and man lay in haphazard positions, blood pooling on the expensive porcelain tiles of the living room. They died with horrified, pained expressions, now immortalized in the way that their mouths are open mid scream, their eyes wide open. 

Well-- the woman’s eyes. The eyes that belonged to the man were now floating inside a jar of formaldehyde, leaving only dark red sockets behind. 

The thought of bringing them back to their place had been something that Jack had been looking forward to more than anything, and it had, once upon a time, sent their heart racing. 

Now the only reason their heart raced was due to the anxiety caused by this mistake. In all of their careful planning, not once had they noticed the existence of a third person. Hell, even all the pictures that were in the house did not suggest, in any way, the idea that a third person--their  _ son-- _ would be living still with them. And they had stalked this family for  _ weeks! _

_ How could they screw up this badly?! _

Gritting their teeth in frustration, Jack pulls their hands out from the corpse. In a swift motion, they change their choice of weapon, picking up a bloodied knife that was to the side. It doesn’t matter if they messed up. As long as they could silence this unexpected witness, things would be alright. They wouldn’t get caught.

Standing up, they point the knife at the young blonde male. In the back of their head, Jack realizes that he is only a little shorter than they are. 

The young male stares at the knife, and then at Jack. He does not seem to be afraid, very unlike his parents that died terrified, like hunted deer. He tilts his head, speaking up again in an unsettlingly calm voice. “Are you going to kill me?”

Well, there’s no way to go around that. “Yes,” Jack nods, their voice like a taut string. They do not want to speak any further with them. Any more time wasted here would simply be putting themselves at an even larger risk. 

And yet, the victim-to-be continues to show no sign of fear. Even with with his impending death right in front of him, he only continues to stare straight at Jack. Their blue eyes lack any emotion behind them, and they almost feel like he’s peering into their very soul. 

Even for a serial killer, it’s somewhat terrifying. 

But what’s even more chilling are the words that come out of the teenager’s mouth. “It’s a little strange. And here I thought that my parents would finally end up finding a way to kill me...but now they look like nothing but meat sacks on the living room floor.” A soft laugh escapes his lips but, just like his eyes, they too lack any sort of energy. It might as well be coming from a robot. 

“You saved my life, mister.” 

A pause.

“And ruined it, I guess.” 

Jack felt like the world had turned upside down on them without warning. To the point that, while  _ still holding the knife _ , they can’t help but blurt out the only thing that’s on their mind.  **_“What?”_ **

The young man ignores the question. Instead, he takes his first steps into the living room--the final resting place for his parents. He walks past Jack who still holds the weapon, and he does not seem to be concerned at all with their threat. He looks down at the blood and gore with a clinical gaze for what feels like forever to Jack, before they speak up again. 

“I owe you my life, I really do.” Each word that comes out of his mouth is more confusing than the last, but he continues, nodding to himself. “I don’t really want to die, so that’s definitely out of the question...I want to help you.” 

“Help me?” Jack parrots back. The phrase sounds even stupider when they say it with a knife in hand and a bloodlust that is almost uncontrollable. 

But the young man smiles at them, far too bright and cheery for it to be normal, considering the situation. At this point, though, the situation had  _ long _ passed the normal threshold. “Yep. You were going to kill me because I’m a witness, right? But think about it this way-- if we work  _ together _ , then we can hide the evidence faster and more efficiently!”

The fact that it’s said in such an earnest tone almost makes Jack want to take off running. It’s like a bad dream, the worst of the worst, as they witness the  _ son of their victims _ asking to help them. It’s so confusing, that they feel like they might pass out at any moment. What do they do? What do they say? They thought that  _ they _ were insane, but from the looks of it there was someone that outmatched them in that aspect. 

They lower the knife to their side. And, in a flash decision that surprises even them, Jack gives their answer. “Alright. But if you do anything suspicious I  _ will _ get rid of you.” 

Despite the threat, the young man laughs cheerfully. It’s almost nauseating in contrast with the scene in front of them, and that realization only manages to shock Jack even further. “Got it!” 

For the first time, Jack felt like they had bitten far more than they could chew. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that best friends help you move bodies-
> 
> But what do you do when a stranger helps you move bodies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINES DAY IN ADVANCE!!! have some nice murder!

The idea of an accomplice had never been something that crossed Jack’s mind.

From since they could remember, Jack had always been a solitary person. No one bothered them, and they bothered no one. Half of the time, people were not aware that they were in the same room in the first place—that was how little attention they brought to themselves. 

So there’s no doubt that they’d feel a great deal of discomfort in being sized up by their only living witness in the middle of what would be described as a slaughter. 

The living room is drenched in a coppery smell. For the first time since they had begun killing, Jack feels like they are going to be sick.

And yet the male in front of them smiles, full of excitement and innocence that contrasts vividly against the backdrop of his own parents’ murder.

“I know where to hide them,” he says, voice chipper. “Let’s take them there before rigor mortis sets in!” 

Aware of the fact that there was no other choice, Jack nods, feeling their heart sink deeper and deeper with each second. 

The estate, which Jack had found out beforehand that it had belonged to the Escardos family for centuries, was much larger than the blueprints could define. There were acres and acres of well kept land, stretching to a beautiful sight of the Monegasque coast. If they hadn’t been dragging a black bag with adult male inside, perhaps Jack could have taken the time to appreciate the way the sun sets into the Mediterranean Sea.

But they  _ are _ dragging a black bag with an adult male inside, and not far behind them is what could be said to be the world’s most unwanted accomplice, dragging a bag with the body of his mother.

The mere thought makes them shudder in disgust.

“Stop there! Perfect!” The young man calls out to them, giving them a thumbs up with one gloved hand. He had insisted that they both wear gloves, in case someone managed to uncover the bodies and tried to test for prints. Considering how their foolishness had caused them to make such a grave blunder, Jack felt like they had no room to argue at the moment. 

And yet, in this large expanse of land, with no neighbors nearby to watch their movements, Jack felt like the only witnesses to their actions were the seagulls that flew to their homes for the night. Unceremoniously, they drop the bag and look back to the blonde behind them with a rather flat look. “Did you bring a shovel?” 

“Eh? Shovel?” From the look that the blonde was giving them, plus the way that he looked around in hopes for a shovel to magically appear, Jack knew that they had forgotten it.

In a way, that was a relief of its own. It meant that this kid was not eerily clever all the time—though the absent-minded behavior in this scenario is somewhat unsettling still. They stare at him for what feels like a good minute before breathing out a tired sigh. “What am I going to bury the body  _ with? _ ”

A moment’s pause. Jack watches as the realization dawns on the other’s face. “Oh.” 

Jack can’t help but sigh again, this time in frustration, as the teenager drops the body and runs back to the house. It takes them two minutes to come back, with beads of sweat on their forehead and a shovel in hand. 

\----

When they’re done burying the bodies, it’s way past midnight. Half way through the digging, Jack has to call out sick from work, something that they rarely, if ever do. 

And all throughout it, the sole survivor of the family talks their ears off. The conversation was more like a flurry of topics that had no real rhyme or sense connecting the two of them. He talks about TV shows, about movies, about conspiracy theories, and even about the random Wikipedia articles that he had read last night at 5 am. Jack was too busy single handedly digging the grave of their two newest victims, so they rarely responded with anything more than an ‘mhm’ or a quick nod to show that they were still listening, but it didn’t matter to this person. They talked on and on, almost as if they had been the first person he had talked to in forever; as if a lid had been taken off.

That thought made their heart ache slightly. Even for someone with a life as solitary as Jack, they still had people to have idle chatter with if they really wanted to. And while it would be safer to assume that perhaps this person had, until now, his parents to speak to...something about the state of the house led them to believe otherwise.

It was as if his parents had erased his existence from their house. 

And he had mentioned something about his parents trying to  _ kill _ him, no?

“You said that these were your parents.” Jack began, speaking up from the large hole that they had dug up. Their voice was tired, their skin and clothes  _ drenched _ in sweat from the terrible work out--they knew that they’d have to have another day off tomorrow. “But I observed the Escardos family for weeks and you were never around. There are no pictures of you either. Why?”

The young man--the last survivor of the Escardos family--gave them a smile from three meters above. It was a far away, almost haunting smile, only illuminated by the waning moon that shone down on the two of them. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been out of the house. A few years probably?” They laugh softly, like a gentle breeze. “The more I stayed in my room and inside the house, the happier they were. And that meant that I was safe. That’s all.” 

Jack felt like those words, said in such a small, even sweet manner, had knocked the wind out of them. They could only stare upwards at him with an incredulous expression, trying to ignore the way that their heart aches due to such a sad story. “Why not just run away, then? If you were that unsafe, why didn’t you think about running?” 

The young man shakes their head, the smile still frozen in their face. “I didn’t want to cause them any more trouble. And I don’t think I could manage to live in the outside world on my own. I’d probably die there as well. So it really wouldn’t be that much different.”

To hear such a statement coming from the person’s mouth, and in such a calm tone, feels like a bucket of cold water being doused on Jack’s back. They stare up at him in silence, their chest only aching even more as they try to find something to say, anything at all. 

But they can’t. 

They can only swallow thick as they hand the teenager the shovel, pushing themselves up with somewhat of a struggle. Without a word, he grabs the bag containing the first body, rolling it into the grave--the young man follows suit with the other bag. 

At least burying them is a bit easier than digging the initial hole. They manage to do it in silence for at least half the way through, but after that, a question can’t help but eat at their conscience. While shoveling, Jack voices their question. “So what will you do now? You’re basically an orphan...and a shut in, from what I’m understanding.” 

He hums in response, putting a finger to his chin as he considers the question. “I’m not really sure,” he admits. “But staying in the house is out of the question of course. It’s a crime scene!” The way he laughs is so  _ friendly _ , that Jack can’t help but feel another wave of uneasiness. “So...I was wondering if I could move in with you?”

Huh.

Jack nearly falls into the grave themselves due to the ridiculous question. It’s beyond ridiculous, in fact--it’s insane! Absolutely insane! This time, they have to voice their confusion. “What the  _ hell _ are you talking about? Why would--why would you want to be in  _ my _ house? Why would I  _ let _ you in the first place?!” 

To that, he just smiles. “Because, just like I owe you, you also owe me! After all, you  _ did _ kill my parents.” 

It makes no sense. In no way whatsoever, does this make sense. And yet, their tone is so  _ earnest _ that they can’t refuse them outright. His voice makes them feel a mix of emotions that they hadn’t felt before--a mix of guilt and a desire to protect the stranger by their side. At this point, it would even be insulting to call him a stranger--they were burying a body  _ together. _

The rest of the burying is done in silence as they consider their options. Maybe they could run away. This person was just as involved in the murder as they were, so it’s not like he could go to the police to turn them in without turning  _ himself _ in. Perhaps he could just say no, and leave the boy to his own devices--maybe he’d die as he had just said. 

Not once does the idea of killing them cross their mind.

And the other options are soon discarded, as their stomach churns angrily at the mere thought of leaving the blonde alone. 

In other words, they only had one option. And it was the most troublesome one. 

“Fine.” Jack sighs, placing the last bits of dirt on the makeshift grave, trying to ignore the way that the blonde besides him lights up in excitement, blue eyes practically sparkling. “But first...tell me your name.” 

“My name…?” 

Jack pinches the bridge of their nose. “Of  _ course. _ If I have to live with you, then you should at least tell me your name. All I know about you is that you’re most likely an Escardos. So what’s your first name?” 

The young man next to him crosses their arms, eyebrows knit together in thought as they considered something--whatever it was, outside of Jack’s realm of thought. “You can call me Flat!” 

Of course. “What.”

“Sure!” ‘Flat’ says, looking almost insulted over how unamused Jack’s expression was. “My real name doesn’t really matter anymore, since no one is here to know it anymore. It’s like...my new name!” 

Well, that was that. Jack could only groan softly as they feel forced to accept the young man’s-- _ Flat’s-- _ ridiculous but honest reasoning for this ‘new name’. They run a dirty hand through hair that was practically matted with sweat, blood, and dirt, and they realized that they desperately needed a shower. “Fine. Fine. Flat it is.”

“And what’s your name?” Flat asks, voice chipper and bright, like a perpetually sunny day. It makes it difficult to be frustrated with him for  _ too _ long, although the confusion remains almost constant.

Jack doubts that it’ll ever go away. But nevertheless, they introduce themselves, a wry smile on their face. 

“You can call me Jack.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gains a roommate, though they have no idea why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Almost Valentines Day Again!

Jack would never brag about their apartment. It was an old brick building, powering through its second life as a permanent residence after a disappointing stint as a hotel. Jack’s place, like all of the others, was a studio. “Kitchen,” “bedroom,” and “living room” were meaningless distinctions.

And it had been fine. The size couldn’t bother Jack when they spent most of their time at home in bed. Now it felt like a problem.

Flat stood in the center of it all, gaping around at the exposed brick and piles of junk mail. A backpack dragged down his shoulders, overstuffed with a few necessities. He dropped it on the hardwood floor and threw his arms wide. “Wow! This place is so small!”

It was not meant to be an insult, but Jack couldn’t help but roll their eyes. “I’m taking the shower. Try not to break anything.” Not that there was much to break. They saw Flat drift towards the meager desk in the corner on their way to the bathroom.

They took their time, letting the water scorch their shoulders red. The white noise allowed them a chance to reflect. They spent mere seconds considering why they’d let Flat follow them home. The more they thought about it, the more their thoughts spun in hopeless knots. They put them aside.

Flat was outside the door, no doubt unpacking his things. Where would he put them? There was room in their dresser, but they were not sure if he’d want to put his things there.

No. Who were they kidding? He’d talked his way into their apartment as he helped them bury his parents. He wouldn’t be deterred by little things like that.

They could feel their thoughts twisting back up, reaching around the mystery that was Flat, but never quite touching it.

Where would he  _ sleep _ ?

It was nearly two in the morning. He’d mentioned that he’d stayed up until 5am the night before. If he did that on a regular basis, then he might not be tired yet, but if he was…

Jack had a couch. They could ask him to sleep there, but it felt cruel. No matter what he said, they could not make him sleep on the couch tonight of all nights. They were a murderer, not a  _ monster. _

They realized just a little too late that they had not brought a change of clothing with them. After scrubbing the water from their hair, they wrapped their towel around themself and opened the door.

Flat was not on the bed, nor was he at the couch. Instead he sat at their tiny desk with their badge in his hands. He twisted at the waist, grinning at them. “You didn’t tell me you were a nurse!”

Of course not. He had not asked. Not that he would have known to. They scratched their nails across their scalp and dragged open a dresser drawer.

“You’re living a double-life,” Flat declared. He dropped their badge and pointed. His voice rung in their ears in the 3am silence. “You’re saving lives at work,”

Their hand sealed across his mouth before he could finish. Flat went stiff, guilt immediately crawling across his face. Why he felt guilty, Jack would never understand. They took their hand away. “This isn’t a house. The walls are thin.”

Flat overcorrected. Jack could barely hear his apology.

They picked up their badge and hung it from its usual hook on the wall. “There’s an extra towel under the counter in the bathroom. You can,” Flat was out of sight before they finished speaking. The solitude gave them another moment to wonder what the hell they were thinking, inviting him here. If he wanted to play the long con, make sure they were taken down for  _ all _ of their crimes, gaining access to their apartment was the best way to do it. But burying two bodies? The cops would never let him go free. His life in that massive house hardly seemed pleasant. Jack had experienced their share of suffering, but they could not imagine tossing everything away at a moment’s notice or smiling so bright while they ran.

The hiss of the shower burst back. They dressed and moved to the entrance to recover their souvenir.

Flat had his father’s eyes.

Jack had them too. They planned to keep them in a cupboard. It was a shame they hadn’t been able to get their hands on a piece of his mother, but they could not help it given the circumstances. Either way, they’d gotten a piece of both of their victims, though not in the form they’d expected.

While they lived alone, they had a spare pillow and set of sheets for the inevitable return of laundry day. They retrieved them from the closet and formed a messy pile on the couch. It was not nearly wide enough for an adult. It would have to do.

The soft patter of the shower lulled them into something like sleep.

\--

Midday sunbeams burned red through Jack’s eyelids. They pulled the sheets up tighter over their face. Their back hurt. Their neck hurt. One of their legs was dangling off into nothingness. Last night had been strenuous, but not enough to justify this kind of pain.

Prying their eyes open was an unpleasant experience. They fought for it anyway. The angle of the shadows in their apartment told them that it was a little after noon, and a little before they usually woke.

There was… something coming from the kitchen. It sounded like pots and pans, but that was impossible. Their cookware had been gathering dust ever since they’d started making enough to order takeout. Besides. They were still tucked deep under their blanket.

There was someone else in the apartment.

They were halfway untangled and struggling when they remembered why. It hardly helped their sense of urgency.

As they’d feared, Flat Escardos, the city’s newest orphan, was fumbling through the kitchen with a saucepan in one hand, and an old stick of butter in the other. “Morning, Jack!”

Jack squinted at the clock. “It’s 12:13pm.”

“It’s morning somewhere,” Flat cheered. The clank of the pan on the stovetop chipped another layer off Jack’s exhaustion. “So I’m making eggs!”

“I don’t have eggs.” Jack cracked their back and immediately regretted it. Pain lanced up and down their spine. Too many late nights. Too many heavy… packages. What they needed was a hot shower, but they’d just taken one last night, as had Flat. They weren’t poor, per-say, but they suspected their paycheck would be taking a beating from now on whether they liked it or not. Best not to indulge. “You’re really staying here?”

“Where else would I go?”

The answer was, of course, ‘literally anywhere else.’ Jack had no idea what either of them were doing. The mutual confusion was comforting in a way.

Flat’s head and shoulders disappeared into the fridge.

Jack looked on with dismay.

“Wow, there’s really nothing in here! Oh hey! Here’s a jar of pickles! Can we eat that for breakfast?”

Jack vaguely remembered bringing them home from a potluck at work a year and a half ago. Did pickles keep that long? They did not know, but they were not eager to find out. They vetoed the idea, and Flat moved on to the freezer. They tried to rub the last of the gunk from their eyes while he dug.

“Hey! You’ve got lots of meat in here! Maybe we can make bacon!”

Their head snapped up. Flat was holding a vacuum-sealed  _ something. _

“Oh. It’s just a pancreas. Nevermind. Is  _ any _ of this food?”

Jack was not sure what distressed them more: The way Flat toppled packages from their sorted stacks until the entire freezer was a cluttered mess, or his complete disregard for the  _ human organs _ he was handling.

Both, they decided. Both was fine. They grabbed the back of his borrowed shirt and dragged him away from the fridge. This hardly stopped him. He danced around to a cabinet and flung it open. “Hey! You have rice! But that’s not really good if you don’t have something else to go with it… Oh! Soup! Do you want soup?”

It was after noon, but it was still far too early for this. Jack walked to their dresser and pulled open a drawer. Several shirts they did not recognize were layered on top of theirs- most likely the few Flat had managed to bring with him. They would have to clear out a drawer for him if he really intended to stay here. They still weren’t sure how they felt about the idea. They had the night off, but the night after they’d be back on shift. They also were not sure how they felt about leaving him alone in their apartment for an extended period.

“So should I make the soup?” Flat calls from the kitchen, “Or do you,” his voice hitches in a gasp, “Do you  _ eat _ people?”

“No!” Jack does not know what is more terrifying: Flat’s earnest voice, or the two packed organs he has in his hands. “Put those back! Don’t touch that! I’m not a  _ cannibal. _ ”

“Oh.”

If Jack did not know better, did not  _ hope _ for better, they’d have thought he sounded disappointed.  _ That’s right, _ they reminded themself,  _ I don’t know anything about him.  _ They ducked into the bathroom and swapped out their pajamas for something that made them feel slightly more civilized.

That accomplished, they strolled into the kitchen and fished a sample of take-out menus from one of the drawers. “What kind of food do you like?”

That caught Flat’s attention. He hopped across the kitchen floor and pressed in close to get a good look.

Jack could not remember the last time they’d felt another living human this close outside of work. They jerked away. Flat lurched back too, but not so far that he couldn’t see the menus. He looked as surprised as Jack felt, though they did not know why. There were a lot of ‘why’s when it came to Flat.

To their left, Flat hummed a nameless tune as he strained his back to read. “Can we get pancakes? I want mine with whipped cream and chocolate chips.”

The medical professional in Jack recoiled from such sacrilege. The exhausted, underpaid, and utterly confused young adult in them threw up their hands and said ‘fuck it.’

“I,” they announced, “Am getting a milkshake.”

Flat cheered.

\--

By the time the driver arrived with their food, Flat’s whipped cream was little more than a thin foam on soggy pancakes, and Jack’s milkshake was a watery mess. Jack downed it in a series of extended gulps, with all the determination of someone drinking to get drunk.

They had not fallen so far as to order alcohol and 1pm, but they were tired enough to pretend.

Flat, by contrast, savored his soggy pancakes with raw reverence. Each lift of the fork was worship, each hum of delight a prayer.

By the time he was done, Jack had long since dumped their take-out containers. They’d picked up one of their old textbooks and propped it open on their knees, trying not to think about how happy Flat was to eat cold food from a shitty diner or what it could mean.

\-- 

“Hey, Jack! Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

They creased the corner of their current page. “You didn’t pack one?” Unsurprising. By the time dawn broke and they’d scrubbed as much of the evidence as they could from the floor, they needed to leave. Flat had sprinted up the stairs, gasping for breath, and returned with his backpack mere minutes later.

But Flat poked his head out from the bathroom door and shook his head. “Mine’s just really old.”

‘Old’ did no credit to its service. When Jack walked over to examine it, they discovered a piece of plastic with a lawn of bristles just strong enough to tickle. It must have been years old. Flat had that same sheepish grin he’d shared when he told Jack about his parents’ plans.

Jack had never been close to their family when they’d had one. They could not even picture endless hours spent trying not to exist while their mother and father pretended they’d succeeded. They slipped their wallet into their pocket. “I’ll go grab you a new one. Anything else you need while I’m out?”

Something fell to the ground. Flat scrambled out of the bathroom, buttoning his shirt as he went. “Can I come with?”

Those big blue eyes did not belong locked behind a bedroom door. They hesitated. “The store will be busy,” they cautioned. “Do you want to wait until later? It might be a bit much.” 

“Nope!”

His confidence stung Jack’s eyes.

They did not know Flat. They knew he liked sweets, games, and movies. They also knew that his parents had tried to kill him, and he was relieved that they were dead.

There were a lot of things they did not understand, and many more they could not fathom. Being with Flat felt like knowing there was something over the horizon but not knowing if it was a friend or a monster.

Whatever it was could handle a little crowd.

“… Okay. Just stick close by. It would be bad if you got lost.”

Flat snapped a bright salute on his way to the door. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> on google docs this is titled 'wtf'. this is still how i feel.


End file.
